


love isn't brains, children, it's blood

by BriaMaria



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Buffy AU, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sweet Potato Surprise, Vampire Harry, Vampires, because it deserves a tag, hopefully?, i don't write non happy endings, it might seem like an ambiguous end but it's not, niall is a really good bro, slayer louis, zayn is spike and behaves accordingly so like be aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriaMaria/pseuds/BriaMaria
Summary: If the apocalypse comes ... beep me. (aka the Buffy AU I've always wanted to write)





	love isn't brains, children, it's blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FallingLikeThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingLikeThis/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS!! This is my gift for the wonderful, generous, kind, talented Tabitha. You always inspire me with your generous nature and open heart. <3 
> 
> For everyone else: Whew, this was written for a fan of buffy, so there's some MAJOR MAJOR spoilers. If you haven't seen seasons one through three stop what you're doing immediately and go watch them!!!!!! Hot tip: the flashbacks are in reverse chronological order for anyone who hasn't seen the series and they are completely and indulgently some of my favorite scenes.
> 
> Niall is willow; Liam is Xander; Roman is Anya (and his behavior has nothing to do with how I feel about him IRL); Shawn is Tara; Steve is Giles; and Zayn is Spike. 
> 
> I borrowed three iconic lines from the show, 1. the spike quote which is the title and in full below; 2. the, "what's left?" "me" dialogue because it's ICONIC; 3. Harry/Angel's parting line when he first meets Louis. The rest is all me.
> 
> PLEASE ENJOY!!!!
> 
> "You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood...blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

“What the hell is the difference between yams and sweet potatoes?” Louis asked, holding two vaguely orange vegetables--starches? vegetables?--up to the grocery store’s harsh fluorescent lights.

Niall tossed an apple in the air. “You know Harry’s here, right?”

“Yup.” Louis wrinkled his nose as he twisted and turned the thing he thought might be the sweet potato. There were some weird bumps on it, but that was good, right? More vitamins, or something.

“No, I don’t mean in Sunnydale,” Niall said around a mouthful of the Honey Crisp. “I mean here, in the store.”

Yams sounded more holiday-eque but his recipe _was_ called Sweet Potato Surprise so he should probably just go with that. “Yup.”

“He’s skulking in the bread aisle,” Niall continued.

“And before that he was skulking in the cereal aisle,” Louis said, dropping the vegetable--starch? no, vegetable. Or was it both?--into his basket alongside the marshmallows, the brand-name ones, not the cheap generic ones that melted all weird. Because he was going to do this _right_.

“So you’re... you’re what? You’re just? Okay with that?” Niall’s voice climbed steadily, until the “that” came out squeaky and indignant.

“Yeah, Niall,” Louis whirled--actually _whirled_ which he’d thought was a thing reserved for romance novels. “I’m super cool with my ex and love of my life--who, by the way, I last saw after we both survived the apocalypse for the third or fourth time--stalking me while I’m grocery shopping. After years of radio silence. Totally okay with it. Totally chill.”

Louis realized he was waving the basket around in what might-- _might_ \--be called an erratic manner. But it was 1 a.m., Steve’s Christmas party started in less than 24 hours, and, honestly, a person could really only be expected to take so much.

“Now.” Louis jabbed his finger toward Niall. “Steve put me in charge of making Sweet Potato Surprise. And I am. Not. Going to let him down because of Harry fucking Styles.” Niall had started doing a kind of scared nodding thing that people did when they didn’t really agree but didn’t want the irrational person to get more upset. “So you’re either going to shut the hell up and help me find the vanilla extract or get out of my fucking way.”

A moment of silence dropped between them, went taut, and then broke as Niall tipped his head toward the back of the store. “I think… I think it’s Aisle 12.”

“Thank you,” Louis muttered.

As they passed the bread aisle, Harry ducked behind a pole, seeming to forget the fact that he was quite broad in the shoulders and extremely recognizable in his emo floor-length black trench.

“Hello, Harry,” Louis called, without stopping to wait for a response.

Four bags of hot dog rolls and a glass jar of some sort tumbled to the floor in Harry’s haste to flee once he realized he’d been spotted.

Louis rolled his eyes as Niall nearly doubled over in laughter.

Harry fucking Styles, ladies and gentlemen.

***

_“You’re leaving,” Louis whispered. It wasn’t a guess._

_Harry was silent, watching him from too far away. Sirens and horns and the residual wail of a grief-stricken loved one pierced the air--the soundtrack of a world that had, surprisingly, not ended, but that had been bruised and battered as it fought to survive._

_Louis knew the skin beneath his own eye was shadowed purple, green at the edges; knew the trickle of_ wetness _along his arm, along his ribcage, was blood; knew the pain in his ankle was his tendons stitching themselves back up together. And yet none of that hurt, not like this did._

_The tears didn’t come, though. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to think and it hurt to stand there and wait for Harry to walk away, to leave. But Louis didn’t cry._

_“I’m sorry,” Harry finally said, quiet, so that it was almost lost to the chatter that swirled around them, the relief everyone felt buzzing into sound and hugs and laughter that was more nerves than anything else._

_Louis’ eyes dropped to his own hands, soot covered, knuckles raw, jagged fingernails. “It’s not your fault. We were built to fall apart.”_

_A small, broken whimper was punched out of Harry, and Louis looked up just in time to see the constellation of anger, despair, resignation, slide across that face that was so familiar, so precious. Then it went blank again. “Were we?”_

_It was shy and hesitant and Louis knew Harry had wanted to leave without saying anything more, had wanted to fade into the night, halfway to Los Angeles before the dust even settled. But they’d always been weak for each other. They’d always been weak for goodbyes._

_For some reason, this one felt like it was actually going to stick._

_“Vampire.” Louis pointed at Harry’s chest. Then pointed at his own. “Slayer.”_

_Neither of them mentioned the part where Harry would lose his soul if he let himself love Louis. If he let himself have even a moment of that pure happiness._

_“Destined for an unhappy end,” Louis continued, not sure why he was twisting the knife that he knew had already flayed skin, had already sliced deep. Not sure why his voice was so light while he was doing it._

_Harry scuffed a boot against pavement, and nodded, only once, as if to himself. Then without another word he turned, walked away._

_Louis didn’t bother to wait to see if Harry would look back. He knew he wouldn’t._

_***_

“So, do you know _why_ your ex and love of your life, who by the way you last saw after that one near apocalypse, is stalking you in grocery stores?” Niall asked from his perch on Louis’ counter. “After years of radio silence.”

Louis looked up from the measuring cup, impressed. “That was almost word for word, dude.”

Niall tapped his temple, grinning. “Steal trap, baby. And you’re avoiding the question.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Louis went back to the brown sugar. It wasn’t _quite_ at the right line, but was that really important? Recipes always built in a little wiggle room, right?

A marshmallow hit his face. “Yo, not to be like, a downer or anything, but you know this doesn’t just concern you.”

And there was the crux of the problem. “He has his soul. Even _you_ could tell. And believe me, he isn’t getting near any of this,” Louis waved his hand toward his junk, “anytime soon.”

Because the last time Louis and Harry had bumped uglies, Harry went evil and tried to kill everyone. Louis’d had to send him to Hell, which had been _super_ fun and great for his emotional stability. 10/10, would recommend if you want to be fucked up for the rest of your life.

“Yeah, you say that now and the next thing you know you have him locked up in a secret castle that _for some reason_ just happens to have an excess of whips and chains on the walls,” Niall wiggled his eyebrows, leering obnoxiously, before popping another mallow.

“You keep a guy in a castle _one_ time and you never hear the end of it,” Louis said beneath his voice. And, yeah, okay it had also not been awesome of him to hide the fact that Harry had _returned_ from Hell complete with his soul but missing a lot of English and knowledge about basic human interactions.

Louis crossed the room to snatch the bag from Niall’s grubby hands. “Oy with the marshmallows already. They’re. For. My. Recipe.”

“That reference is _so_ dated.” Niall had somehow managed to snatch two last mallows, which he proceeded to stuff into his mouth in one bite. “You’re slipping. Also, dude, bro, my man, I love you but you kind of need to unclench about this casserole thing.”

“The Sweet Potato Surprise.” _Honestly._

“Righhtttt,” Niall nodded, using that same soothing voice he’d tried in the grocery store. “You know what Steve would say if he saw you now.”

Like it was hard to guess what his Watcher would think. Still. “He would say, ‘Thank you, Louis for making the Sweet Potato Surprise for my Christmas party, I wouldn’t be able to pull off this dinner without you.’”

“Considering how much time you spend with the guy, your Steve impression really needs work,” Niall critiqued. “And he would say you’re channeling your stress about Harry being in town into this casserole.”

“Sweet. Potato. Surprise.”

“Rightttt,” Niall drawled again. “So, Harry? Why’s he here? If he’s not going to try to kill us all again.”

_Try to kill every one of Louis’ family and friends_ one _time, and you never hear the end of it. Okay twice. Three times, tops._

“I don’t know, I’m sure the world’s ending or something,” Louis shrugged, then turned the beater on high to drown out anything else Niall had to say.

***

_“This doesn’t change anything,” Harry whispered, standing there in a goddamn tux at Louis’ goddamn prom looking like everything Louis had ever wanted in the goddamn world. “I’m still going to leave after tomorrow.”_

_“If there’s still a world after tomorrow,” Louis quipped because he didn’t want to cry. Harry’s brow pinched, as if Louis weren’t taking him seriously enough. Louis held up a hand. “I know. We stop the apocalypse, stab a big sword into the evil guy, and then you blow this popstand. I know.”_

_The glow from the fairy lights someone on the prom committee had hung with a heavy hand caressed the slope of Harry’s cheek, his clenched jaw. His hair was short these days, sheared off after he’d returned from Hell, and a single strand curled over his forehead. His eyes were sad. So fucking sad._

_This was Louis’ prom night, though. The one he’d fought so hard for, because he’d wanted one normal night in a lifetime of death and murder and demons._

_“Can we just…”_

_Harry’s mouth tightened at the corners before relaxing. He nodded, getting it because that’s how they were. They always got it without having to say anything. He held out his hand. “Sir, may I have this dance.”_

_Louis melted into Harry’s arms, his face tucked into Harry’s neck, chests, hips, thighs pressed tight as if they could become one being that knew only about love and nothing about the absolute goddamn unfairness of life._

_The song was slow, with a haunting, ethereal voice that slid into the soft spaces of Louis’ body, and they swayed more than danced, just breathing each other in._

Wild, wild horses, couldn’t drag me away. Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day.

_***_

It was past 3 a.m. when Louis’ phone rang. As he answered, he kept an eye on the second casserole he’d popped in the oven. On this try, he was going to time the marshmallows perfectly.

“Lou.” Steve’s voice was sleep heavy, tired like it always was these days. “There’s been an incident. On Cherry Street.”

“But Steve…” The white puffs hadn’t even started to brown yet. If he took it out now, it would be another one ruined.

“Louis.”

Bad, then. Really bad. Louis sighed and flipped the oven off. Then he crossed to where Niall was sprawled on the couch, and nudged the foot hanging off the end. Niall’s magic was still somewhat unstable, but he was a good resource nonetheless.

Louis shrugged into his coat, and then turned his attention back to Steve who was still on the line. “Tell me.”

“Whatever it was… it took a kid.”

_***_

_The white silver light from the moon slid across Harry’s naked back, the muscles along his shoulders sweat-slick and shivering under the strain of his position._

_Harry would know Louis was there, but neither of them broke the hush of the evening as Harry rotated with painstaking precision into the next hold. Yoga. Or T’ai Chi, maybe._

_A man out of time, ageless without hyperbole, the heaviness of his old-world soul a perfect complement to the crumbling walls of the castle that was probably more of a mansion, considering it was in California._

_The lines of Harry’s body were sleek, powerful. Harnessed strength that could kill. That had killed. The flush of heat that had spread along Louis’ chest, coiled in his belly, settled in his groin wasn’t cooled by the thought. And that alone was enough to get him to push off the crumbling wall where he’d been leaning._

_“Brought you some take out,” Louis said, tossing the white paper bag onto the carpet they’d spread in front of the fireplace._

_Harry grabbed the towel that had been resting by his feet. Even when he straightened, though, his eyes flicked down so he wouldn’t have to meet Louis’. “Thanks.”_

_Shame. Harry hated the blood, hated that he needed it, hated that Louis had to buy it from the butcher, had to bring it to him, had to_ touch _it at all. For Harry, it was a tangible reminder that he was forever drenching Louis in darkness, forever pulling him down further away from the light._

_He would leave because of that fear. Once he was strong enough._

_Louis looked away from the bag of animal blood, trailed his finger in the dust that laid thick along the mantel. “I hear Aruba is pretty this time of year.”_

_It was an old game, one they’d played countless times. Harry smiled, finally. His first of the visit._

_“Nah, too many tourists,” Harry answered, as he always did, even if he was a bit slow with it, cautious. The way he talked now, a molasses kind of drawl, ever since he’d lost all his words in Hell, ever since his tongue had betrayed him. “I was thinking Jamaica instead.”_

Where would we live? _Harry had asked that one day, tracing stars onto Louis’ wrist with the pad of his thumb. Serious, as always. Trying to convince Louis that they really were built to fall apart._ I hear Aruba is pretty this time of year, _Louis had answered, because he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t naive and he wasn’t blinded by love. Harry had dragged his teeth along Louis’ arm, just a scrape, not enough to break skin, up, up, until he nosed into the crook of Louis’ elbow. Settled there, breathed in, with Louis’ fingers tangled in his hair._ Fewer tourists in Jamaica, _he’d said, because he was Harry and this was why Louis loved him, loved him so that both their souls were burnt at the edges with it._

_This is foolish, they were saying each time they played this game._ Where would we live? _Our love is foolish._

_And yet, they were also saying, this love is the only thing that matters._

_Could both things be true at the same time?_

_Now, Louis’ fingers nudged_ The Call of the Wild, _resting with haphazard gracelessness at the edge of the mantel, where they’d dropped it the last time Louis had visited, as if it meant nothing. As if it wasn’t their lives, put on ink, by a man who had died a century ago._

_He picked it up, fanning out the pages in one direction, then the next. “More?” He tossed the question over his shoulder, though he knew the answer._

_“Please.” Harry settled himself onto the carpet, his knuckles resting just beside but not touching the bag of blood. The damp towel was slung around his neck, his head bent, sweat-heavy curls pressed against his temples. “Please.”_

_Arranging himself so that there was space, so much space, between them, Louis leaned back against the cool stone of the fireplace and found the page where they’d left off. Then cleared his throat._

_“He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movements, flying exultantly under the stars…”_

***

The black mark burnt into the side of the house was an ugly charred thing that was made all the more terrible in contrast to the bright rainbow Christmas lights, the fake icicles that dripped from the roof, the reindeer with the glowing red nose.

“Shit,” Louis murmured, as he stopped next to Steve. Behind him, Niall bumped gently into his shoulder, misjudging his stop, and cursed, just as softly.

“The parents.” Steve tipped his head toward a couple talking to a uniformed officer, their limbs tangled as they held each other up, the weight of their grief, their fear, evident in the slump of shoulders, in the downward curve of their backs. “Went to check on Sebastian, and found him gone. About an hour ago. There’s a similar mark inside.”

“You’ve checked it out?” Louis asked. They were friendly with the local police, they had to be, they lived on a Hellmouth. But it didn’t mean they could just traipse through crime scenes without regard.

Still, Steve usually found a way.

By this point, the flashing lights on the cop cars, and the mother’s sobs had been enough to draw out neighbors who wanted a show. Steve nodded once, and then Louis followed his lead as he melted back toward the edges of the crowd, Niall following close behind.

“Come back to my place,” Steve said, the keys to his jeep already slapping against his palm.

Even as Louis nodded, his eyes were tracking the shapes, the silhouettes of huddled bodies, faces illuminated in flashes of red and blue.

It had been years since he’d seen Harry, and yet. Yet. His blood, his heart, his lungs, They knew when Harry was near, That hadn’t faded. Would it ever?

There. In the shadows, beyond the glow of the house. Then the night shifted, clouds slipped across the moon, the breeze brushed along Louis’ bare skin.

And Harry was gone.

“Lou?”

Dragging his eyes from the spot where Harry had stood, Louis jogged to catch up. “Yup, yup, coming.”

***

_The numbness that came after Louis sent Harry to Hell was the kind that settled deep into the marrow of bones, that slipped into all the nooks and crevices, that leeched the warmth from his belly._

_Niall had draped himself along Louis’ back, Louis’ spine pressed snug up against Niall’s chest; their knees bent together and then slotted; Niall’s fingers splayed along Louis’ rib cage; his breath hot against Louis’ neck._

_They laid like that for seconds, for minutes, for hours, time passing in a way that Louis couldn’t comprehend. The sun tracked a path along the carpet, there and then not. Light and then dark and then light again._

_“You have to eat something,” Niall finally said, sitting up, but still touching Louis’ hip, like if he let go, Louis would fade into nothingness. “Come on, lad. This isn’t… you have to try.”_

_There was a crack that ran along the ceiling, spider-web thin, but dark black, the void beyond the pristine white paint peaking through. “I didn’t tell you.”_

_A small inhale. Niall had suspected. He had to._

_“You thought…” Louis dragged in a ragged breath, still staring at the crack. “You thought you failed to restore his soul before I killed him.”_

_The hush that settled into the space between them went acidic at the edges._

_“You thought you failed,” Louis said again, his voice threaded with misery, soaked in tears that wouldn’t come._

_Niall sighed, settled back in against Louis, a tether to reality, then pulled the comforter up around their bodies to ward off a chill that was soul deep. He nuzzled into the back of Louis’ neck, the whispered words almost lost to the static buzz in Louis’ ears. “I know I didn’t.”_

_***_

“I’m sorry, but can we pause for a moment and appreciate the fact that our big baddie of the week is called Krampus?” Louis said, as he flipped through the thick leather tome Steve had handed him a while ago.

The whole team was there. They’d set up an impromptu headquarters of sorts around Steve’s battered dining room table--a missing kid case warranted the entirety of the Scooby Gang to be called upon, even though it was ass-o’clock in the morning.

Niall was drifting, his eyelids drooping closed for blinks that kept lasting longer and longer. Shawn on the other hand was alert, scouring through his own big leather book, a pretty pink blush along his cheeks giving away his earnestness. Or his infatuation.

He and Niall had just started tiptoeing around each other ever since Niall had dipped his toes into practicing magic, and Louis was only _just_ holding back the impulse to smoosh their faces together like ken dolls and say “kiss already.”

Liam kept casting shy glances at Niall from beneath his thick lashes, but it wasn’t real jealousy. The two of them had been there, tried that, failed that, and realized they were better as friends years ago. He just didn’t like not being the sole center of Niall’s attention. Which. Honestly, he had better things to worry about what with his boyfriend being a demon who had gotten stuck as a mortal in their universe--and was, to be quite honest, kind of a pain in the ass about it.

“This is so boringgggg.” Speak of the literal devil. Roman was, in theory, supposed to be helping. What that often materialized as, though, was several insensitive remarks, per minute, propositions for Liam to join him in the bathroom for explicitly described sexual activities, and at least one anecdote about his glory days when he actually had power to shred people’s skin from their bodies.

“Krampus,” Louis said, again, ignoring Roman’s griping. “There’s so many options. Swamp Ass. Grab Ass. Cram Puss. Come on. No one?”

“It’s a kid, Louis,” Steve reminded him gently, and the rest of the Scooby Gang averted their eyes, damn traitors.

“Kram It Up Your Ass,” a smoke-heavy voice chimed in. Zayn. He was tied to a chair in the corner, the thick rope tight against his chest and thighs and ankles. Steve had explained earlier--something about Zayn coming to him after being “neutered.” Kidnapped by some secret government force and implanted with a microchip that didn’t allow him to feed. Oh, and by the way, the cute guy Louis was maybe kind of thinking about dating was leading the initiative. Or something like that. At this point, Louis was too tired to keep it all straight. Other than the fact that they had a punk-ass vampire tied to the chair in Steve’s living room, a little over 12 hours before his Christmas dinner was supposed to start.

Louis was absolutely not sharing his Sweet Potato Surprise with Zayn. But he did give him an air fist bump that Zayn couldn’t return anyway. “Zayn gets it.”

“Not sure that’s a winning argument, bro,” Niall said, not even bothering to open his eyes.

And that was… fair. “Alright, so Kram It Up Your Ass”--he threw a wink at Zayn, who nodded appreciatively back. Whatever, it was a good one--“is the Bad Santa, right? He comes for the children on the naughty list?”

Steve shoved his fingers through his hair, a gesture that spoke of exhaustion, one that Louis had seen countless times on countless nights like this one. “Yeah. In lore, on Krampusnacht,” he narrowed his eyes, as if daring Louis to even _try it_ , “which is like Christmas Eve, essentially, he shoves the children who have misbehaved in a sack. Then he takes them to drown, eat or carry to Hell, depending on the version you pick.”

“Lovely.”

“Indeed,” Steve agreed. “There have been some sightings reported to the Council in recent years.” He pulled something up on his laptop. “But instead of one night, the demon seems to operate all through December.”

“How many kids?” Niall asked, drumming his fingers on the table, finally looking awake.

“Too hard to track,” Steve said, shaking his head. “He moves fast, across states, across the country. Could be a handful, could be dozens.”

_Fuck._

He didn’t realize he’d said it allowed until Liam nodded along, his puppy dog eyes so serious and sad. But Li didn’t actually know what Louis was upset about.

Because, this. This was probably why Harry was here. _Across the state._ He was probably tracking Dumb-Ass ( _his new favorite, he made a note to share it with Zayn_ ) from LA.

And missing kids meant Louis would actually have to talk to him. _Fuck._

Louis dropped his chin, shoulders sagging for a brief moment, letting himself take a second before everyone else realized what had to be done, just a heartbeat to shore up his defenses.

Then he stood up, walked to Steve’s door, and called out into the night that was oh-so perfectly still. “Come on in, Harry.”

***

_Adrenalin turned Louis’ blood hot and sticky, his nerves twitching, flaring as muscle memory directed his hands, his arms, his body. Block, twist, roll, absorb the punch, kick the knee, elbow to the nose, vulnerable spots, find the vulnerable spots._

_The portal was open, the light nearly blinding. But both Louis and Harry ignored it, locked in a dance as intimate as sex, as familiar as breathing._

_Block, twist. Vulnerable spots. A blow to the arm. His arm. It was already broken. Harry always knew where to hit, where to go in for the kill._

_Before he’d lost his soul, and turned into this_  thing, _this demon,_ though, _he would have torn himself apart before ever hurting Louis._

_This wasn’t Harry, anymore. This wasn’t Harry._

_If Louis told himself that enough maybe he’d actually be able to use the stake he’d brought with him, the one strapped to his thigh._

_Niall had failed. He must have._

_Even asking him to try the spell that could possibly restore Harry’s soul had been cruel. So cruel. It was delicate and powerful, and if it went wrong, the magic could destroy Niall, even with Shawn’s help._

_But Louis had come to realize there was no place he wouldn’t go to save Harry, if he could._ _And so he’d showed he spell to Niall anyway, and the kid hadn’t so much as blinked before agreeing._

_Block, twist. Louis landed a kick to Harry’s solar plexus, earning him some breathing room. It didn’t last long, Harry was relentless, malicious with it, too._

_Niall had failed. Louis could only pray it hadn’t destroyed him in the process._

_Harry was nearly gleeful as he advanced, as he batted away Louis' sword, as he struck Louis hard, hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground. Louis retreated until his back was against the wall, Harry stalking toward him, his own sword now in his hand._

_This wasn't Harry. And whatever this thing was didn't just want to kill Louis. It wanted to torture him, press on his bruises til he bled, rip at his flesh until there was nothing left, make him pay for the way Louis had made Harry_ feel,  _har made hime_ love,  _when he had a soul. The memory was there, but it was twisted and ugly now._

_This wasn't Harry._

_“Now that’s everything, huh?” Harry taunted, sauntering ever closer. Louis closed his eyes. This wasn’t Harry. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t Harry. “No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away… and what’s left?”_

_Everything in Louis’ went silent, even as the portal screamed, even as Harry laughed, even as the pitiful cries of Louis’ fallen friends crawled into the mausoleum. Everything went silent._

_Inhale. Exhale._

_"Tell me, what's left, slayer."_

_Louis’ eyes snapped open, catching the sword that was an inch from his face between his palms._

_“Me.”_

_He used his grip on the blade, and the element of surprise, to shove the blunt and heavy hilt into Harry’s face._

_The pain would be inconsequential to Harry, but the distraction allowed Louis to roll, to grab the ceremonial sword he’d lost earlier, to drive it through Harry’s belly._

_Harry gasped, stumbled, clutched at the steel._

_It wouldn’t kill him, not like a stake would, but the portal required sacrifice, and a wound like that made Harry more pliable than he’d ever been before. Louis pushed him, he gave a step. Pushed him again, and Harry relented more ground._

_Sensing payment, the portal howled, rippled, burned so bright it was pure white._

_Another step._

_This wasn’t Harry, this wasn’t Harry._

_Inhale. Exhale._

_This wasn’t Harry._

_And then. And then..._

_Harry collapsed suddenly, a brutal cry wrenched from his chest._

_The portal widened._

_“Louis?”_

_His name was so soft on Harry’s lips, just like it was when they laid together in the dark, lips swollen from kissing, palms sweaty, breathing ragged. Louis stumbled, not toward Harry, but away._

_It might as well have been a blow, with the way Harry flinched at Louis’ retreat. “Louis?”_

_Plaintive, weak. So, so confused._

_Trick, Louis’ mind screamed. It’s a fucking trick._

_But Harry’s eyes were damp, flicking between the sword in his belly, to Louis’ bruised face, to the portal, back to his own hands that bore the raw knuckles of a fresh fight. “What…?”_

_On a wet and ugly sob, Louis’ knees finally buckled, his arms limp by his side so that he hit the ground with his full weight._

_Niall hadn’t failed._

_“Harry.” It was a whispered prayer, a confession, an apology._

_The warmth from the portal pressed in against Louis’ chest, caressed his face, the heat deceptive in its gentleness._

_Harry’s pupils were blown, his lip trembling. But Louis saw the exact moment it clicked._

_“You have to do it,” he whispered. “You have to.”_

_“No.” Louis’ voice was broken, so broken, he could hear his soul tearing apart even in that one word. Because they both knew, they both knew._

_Harry shuffled forward on his knees, until his fingers cupped Louis’ cheek, his thumb stroking the sharp angles. So soft._ Harry.

_Tears caught and pooled against Harry hands. Louis didn’t even try to stop them._

_“Lou,” Harry breathed out, resting his forehead against Louis’, holding there, breathing him in, just as he’d done so many times before. They wouldn’t say it, they wouldn’t say it._

_But it was there in the space between them, the unspoken words, the words that didn’t need to be given voice for how_ true _they were, how much a part they were of the very fabric of reality._

I love you. Always.

_A thousand memories flickered, caught, moved on. Harry grinning over a pool table. Harry fighting, his limbs nearly beautiful in their clumsiness. Harry on late-night grocery store runs, sneaking his favorite cereal into the cart. Harry stretched out on Louis’ bed on quiet evenings, one hand holding a book, one stroking Louis’ wrist. Harry over Louis, panting, their bodies connected in every way possible. Harry laughing, Harry crying, Harry teasing him, Harry holding him._

_The portal howled._

_The gravitational pull tugged at a spot in Louis’ belly, and Harry had to feel it, too._

_In one swift move, Harry pressed a fierce kiss to Louis’ forehead, then gripped his wrists, bringing Louis’ hands down to the sword’s hilt. Together, they drove it deeper into Harry, the combined force enough to push him back, toward the light, toward Hell._

_Their fingertips caught, fought for that precious last moment of contact, before Harry was gone._

_Gone._

_A sacrifice made. The portal was satisfied._

_***_

“Ohhhh, are things finallly going to get interesting?” Roman asked from behind Louis as Harry stepped out of the darkness, his dark coat swirling around his knees.

There was a frantic scraping sound and then a crash, a body hitting the floor. Louis tore his eyes from Harry long enough to see Zayn tipped over, still trying to gyrate his body to get further away from Harry. Bad blood there.

Liam bent down and grabbed the arms of the chair. “I’m just gonna…” They both grunted as Liam lifted him back upright, and Louis closed his eyes. His crack team.

“Um.”

Harry stood just on the other side of the door, even though he’d been invited in. The outside light played across his face, casting shadows into the hollows of his cheekbones, and over his eyes so they were hidden.

“You’re here about Dumb Ass I presume,” Louis said, ignoring the clench in his heart, It was the vagus nerve, nothing else. A biological twitch that it would be foolish to believe meant anything other than an evolutionary hold-over of the fight-or-flight response.

He’d gotten over Harry ages ago. He had.

At Louis’ nickname from Krampus, the corner of Harry’s lips tugged up for the briefest moment, and there was Louis’ fucking vagus nerve acting up again. Harry had always appreciated his sense of humor.

“He took three kids from my neighborhood.”

So, neither of them were doing the small-talk pleasantries thing. Good. They were so far beyond that, it would have hurt to try. Harry continued: “I didn’t get to him in time in LA, but I tracked him heading up here. I figured…”

“Hellmouth,” Louis nodded. It drew all the big baddies. “Smart.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt this touching reunion here…” Roman cut in, and Louis braced himself. “But who the fuck are you?”

Harry didn’t take his eyes off Louis. “Doesn’t matter.”

It hit like the punch Harry meant it as. Or, maybe not punch so much as reality check. As if Louis needed one. It didn’t matter who Harry was because he wasn’t staying. In and out. Louis wondered if Harry would have even contacted him had he not been called out.

“Oooohk,” Roman drawled. “Bored again. Come on Liam, you can blow me in Steve’s room.”

“Nooooo,” Steve called after the departing pair. Liam threw an apologetic look over his shoulder, but also didn’t slow down at all. A door slammed a moment later, and Steve buried his face in his hands. “Tell me you have something, Harry.”

“I do,” Harry said staring at the place where hardwood met the outside stone. It was a big deal, this. Steve inviting him into his home after the thing Harry had turned into had killed his lover. There might have been a universe where Louis hadn’t had to kill his own lover, that he would have found that forgiveness to be quite literally unbelievable.

But life wasn’t painted in black and white, and neither was morality, and sometimes the best you could try for was some kind of _goodness_ in the moment, even if it wasn’t deserved, even if it seemed beyond your capabilities.

Finally, Harry took a deliberate step inside. And sometimes accepting an olive branch was just as hard as offering one, especially when you knew you were in the wrong. So Louis didn’t draw attention to the tense moment.

The same couldn’t be said of Zayn. “Fucking drama queen over here,” he muttered, probably confident in the idea that Harry probably wouldn’t attack a bound, incapacitated man.

“Do you want to have a conversation with Mr. Pointy?” Louis asked, as he headed back toward the table.

Zayn wiggled his tongue obscenely, but remained quiet, so the point was probably made sufficiently. At least for now.

“Niall,” Harry said, so softly, not quite as tender as the way he said Louis’ name, but carrying a similar deference. As if he was always asking for a kindness he didn’t deserve.

Which was bullshit. It hadn’t been Harry’s fault, everything he’d done when he’d lost his soul. And yet he was still blaming himself. The martyr, as always. Giving away anything good he had as a penance to a mistake he’d made as a young man hundreds of years ago.

All at once, Louis was exhausted in a way that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Exhausted to his poor bruised and battered soul.

It turned his voice sharp. “What do you have?”

“Um.” Harry shuffled his feet, his eyes on the floor. “An evergreen stake. Through the heart. That will do it.”

“Ah, of course,” Steve said, then immediately bent over his computer, his attention focused on the bright screen.

“Wow, cliche much?” Louis flopped into his seat, fiddled with some pages so he didn’t have to look at … anybody.

“There’s more.”

“Want to share with the class?” Niall asked, an edge there. People always thought he was a happy go-lucky kid, not a care in the world. But Louis knew that Niall hadn’t forgotten the days after Louis had sent Harry to Hell, days he’d spent wrapped around Louis trying desperately to hold him together as every molecule of his being was vibrating apart. Louis knew that Niall hadn’t forgotten that quiet month, after Harry left for LA, either. Where Louis hadn’t cried, and he hadn’t fallen apart, and he also hadn’t felt anything beyond the dull pain that coursed through his veins every second of the day.

Harry licked his lips. This was why he couldn’t meet Niall’s eyes. Because he knew all of that, too. Even if he hadn’t been there to experience it, he’d known. He knew everything about Louis, knew his heart and the way he grieved and the way he felt too deeply about their love for it ever to be contained to anything less than devastating.

“The tip of the stake has to be dipped in the blood of a person pure of heart,” Harry said.

Zayn scoffed. “You all are in short supply of hose. Can someone please for God’s sake light me a cigarette? These two are fucking torture to watch. Boo-hoo we used to fuck and now we can’t anymore. Oh the angst, the melodrama.”

When Harry took a threatening step toward Zayn, Louis stopped him with a hand on his arm. Even though it was just the fabric of his coat, it was the first time they’d touched in years. Louis pulled his fingers back like they’d been singed. “Not worth it.” But he said it while flipping Zayn off.

“While, I kind of hate to agree with Zayn…” Louis glanced around the table “I think I’m out of the running for pure of heart.”

Niall flicked a nervous glance at Shawn, whose cheeks were bright red. “Uh, do dirty thoughts count? Just … you know asking, for research purposes.”

Shawn ducked his head, tucking his smile away from sight, and Zayn cat-called them, but they all ignored him.

Just then, Liam and Roman re-emerged, sweaty, flushed, clothes askew, a gross blissed out glow coming off them in waves. “What did we miss?”

“Yeah, not them either,” Louis said, then his eyes landed on Steve.

“Hey, I get some,” Steve said, all insulted. “That’s not even… that’s probably not even what they mean.

Louis kicked Steve’s shin gently, under the table. “You fit the bill, my friend. The purest heart there is. And I’m not talking about your lack of action in the boudoir.”

Blinking too fast to be anything other than a way to hold back tears, Steve stared at Louis with a small, fond smile before nodding, once. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Louis murmured, affection for his Watcher crowding out the rest of the messiness that was in his chest.

“There’s, um,” Harry interrupted the moment. “We need a kid. To lure him out.”

“What?” That came from at least three of the people around the table. Zayn just laughed.

“Krampus,” Harry’s eyes met Louis’ and he did that little smile thing that had Louis’ vagus nerve twitching again, “won’t hurt the kid. He’s actually kind of a fair demon.”

“A fair demon?” Niall asked, none of the frostiness gone from his voice. “Oxymoron, don’t you think? Kind of like a vampire with a soul, innit?”

“Subtle,” Louis said beneath his breath, but Niall just shrugged. That was Niall. On Louis’ side, always, even when Louis wasn’t there with him.

Harry was back to shuffling, and casting desperate looks toward the door. “The child needs to offer him a piece of fruit. That will lure him out. He’ll take the fruit and let the child go.”

“You’re sure about this?” Steve asked.

“One hundred percent.”

“We need a kid? I can get us a kid,” Roman chimed in, drawing every skeptical gaze in the room except Zayn’s, who started grinning like he thought it was a brilliant idea for an ex-demon to secure them a child.

“Uh, not to be mistrustful, but absolutely not,” Niall said, and Roman pouted.

“My nephew can do it,” Shawn volunteered, pink under the sudden attention of everyone in the room. Louis spared a moment to wonder if he just lived his life perpetually blushing. “As long as he’ll be safe.”

Niall placed a hand on his knee. “You don’t have to…”

“No, I trust…” Shawn broke off, looking at Harry and then quickly away. Shawn leaned into Niall’s shoulder. “I trust _you_.”

“Get a roooom,” Roman called out and Zayn seconded the suggestion. Shawn looked ready to crawl under the table in mortification.

Louis would have cringed, but the awkwardness level in the room had climbed so high in the past twenty minutes that it barely registered. “Alright, fam. Let’s get this show on the road and kill the big baddie. I have a Sweet Potato Surprise to get back to.”

“Louis you don’t have to make it,” Steve started, and Louis held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s getting made.” There was no room for discussion here.

“Okay, okay.” Steve said, using that soothing voice Niall had pulled on Louis, too. These people did not appreciate his dedication to this side dish. “I’m going to get the stake, I know a guy.”

“Of course you do,” Louis said, pushing to his feet. “Let’s go get an ambush spot ready, I’m not taking any chances with the kid.”

As they dispersed, Louis heard Shawn whisper behind him: “What’s Sweet Potato Surprise?”

Niall groaned. “Please for the love of god don’t get him started.”

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” Louis slung an arm around Shawn’s shoulder, ignoring Harry’s searching looks. He could shove them up his ass for all Louis cared.

“Hey can I try some when it’s done?” Zayn called out from behind them. Louis flipped him the bird just before shutting the door in his face on the way out.

***

_Louis’ skin tingled, his pulse wild, so that he could feel it in his throat, his hands jittery, his blood_ alive. _There were cuts, wounds, shallow but there nonetheless, all over his body, but they were nothing compared to the high he was riding._

_Beside him, Harry giggled, tugging him along, their fingers intertwined. The rain clung to Harry’s lashes as he turned toward Louis, grinning, dimpling with it. Louis loved this dimples. They were so out of place on a vampire who was hundreds of years old. Here, in this moment, here was the sweet 23-year-old kid who knew nothing of death or killing or curses._

_Louis loved that part of him, like he loved every part of Harry. Recklessly, without limit._

_As Louis just watched, Harry tipped his head back, face toward the sky, arms spread wide, spinning, spinning, spinning. Singing, too. Some old-world Gaelic song, Harry’s melodic voice caressing the soft lyrics, bending them toward joy when they so clearly were meant for sadness._

_Nothing so close to grief could touch them right now, though. In the rain, the night, riding the buzz of a successful mission, riding the high of each other. Drunk off this stupid perfect moment that blinked into the next stupid perfect moment._

_“Come on, Sinatra.” Louis laughed grabbing Harry’s hand, pulling him forward. Toward Harry’s little lair. He hated when Louis called it that, but the place was dark and cozy and somewhat small, and it was fun to tease him anyway._

_Harry pulled him to a stop, both drenched and neither of them caring about it. “God you’re beautiful,” he said, with that devastating sincerity that burned away all Louis’ hard-earned cynicism. Harry cupped Louis’ jaw pulling him in, brushing their lips in a kiss that was tortuously chaste, barely there, really._

_Still, the warmth pooled like honey in Louis’ groin. If nothing else, it was a promise of things to come._

_Louis whined, high and embarrassing, when Harry pulled back. And Louis had to put a bit more of an eye-roll into his voice this time to cover for it. “Come_ on _, Romeo.”_

_But Harry wasn’t fooled, he never was by Louis’ attempts to hide emotion behind snark and humor. He saw Louis, truly saw him. “Beautiful,” he whispered again, his thumb tracing over Louis’ cheekbone, his eyes flitting from Louis’ lips to his lashes to the wet fringe that dripped against his forehead, back to his mouth, back to his eyes. Their gazes locked, held. Everything else, the rain, the distant buzz of traffic, the danger that might still not be fully passed, irrelevant._

_They kissed again, and it was anything but chaste. Harry’s tongue traced the seam of Louis’ lips, not so much asking for permission as teasing. Louis chased the feeling, the slick, hot slide of their tongues together, the heat, the taste of_ Harry _and raindrops, the threat of pain as Harry sunk gentle, oh so gentle, teeth into Louis’ bottom lip._

_Louis’ arms were draped around Harry’s neck, one leg lifted to wrap around his strong, thick thigh so that their half-hard cocks brushed against each other, their hip bones pressed tight, their bellies so close Louis could feel each deep inhale. They were rocking together, minutely, little figure-eights as they both sought friction beyond the rough fabric of their jeans. Practically dry humping right on the street, mindless with it._

_“Harry.” It was nearly,_ nearly _, a whimper, and Louis hid his burning face in the crook of Harry’s neck, and even then couldn’t stop the way his hips moved, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, his leg tightening around Harry’s waist as he shifted his weight to get a better drag._

_“Okay, sweetheart, okay,” Harry soothed, and stepped away. “I know,” he whispered, pressing his thumb to the corner of Louis’ mouth, the pressure enough to get Louis to ease up on his own bottom lip. “We’re almost home.”_

_Home. The word lit something in Louis chest. The way Harry said it like_ his _apartment was_ theirs.

_They tripped, skipped, ran, the last few blocks to Harry’s loft, were barely through the door when Harry crowded into Louis’ space, their mouths hot against each other’s._

_Nothing about it was gentle this time, both of them so strong they felt no need to rein in the desperation. They slammed into the wall, the painting hanging there rattling on its nail. Harry’s hip bumped a side table, sending a vase crashing to the floor._

_Louis swallowed Harry’s laughter, as Louis worked to get him out of his damp clothes._

_It took far too long for skin to meet skin, both of their hands trembling in their urgency, neither unwilling to break their kiss. But when Louis’ fingers dug into the tough muscles of Harry’s shoulders, when Harry’s chest pressed in against Louis’, they both gasped, their lips separating for the briefest moment where all they could do was pant, breathing each other’s air._

_“Up, up,” Harry finally murmured, his hands sliding down to the back of Louis’ thighs. With only the smallest amount of nudging, Louis got the message, and jumped so that his legs wrapped around Harry’s waist, his back up against the wall. Louis’ hard cock, still trapped in his jeans, throbbed with the way Harry’s biceps strained holding up his weight._

_He leaned forward, sinking his teeth into the sinewy muscle, and Harry cried out, hips bucking forward, his head falling back, exposing his neck. So vulnerable, Louis lathed over the mark he’d just made with his tongue, something primal and terrible in him pleased that it was there._

_“You’ll be the death of me,” Harry said, and with an easy move pulled Louis away from the wall, crossing the room without any effort to sit on his bed. He kept Louis firmly in position the whole time, so that he ended up in Harry’s lap, his knees on either side of Harry’s thighs._

_Sparks fired up along his spine as his weight settled against Harry, their groins flush. Louis was unable to stop his hips, though this time he felt no pressure to even try to do so. He worked Harry over, rolling his body in slow, undulating waves as their mouths found each other’s once more. Harry’s hands spread out against his back, tight against Louis’ rib cage, sliding down to hold onto his hips, clutching so that there would surely be bruises along the soft flesh tomorrow._

_Finally, Harry seemed to work up whatever courage he’d been looking for and grabbed Louis’ ass with both hands. Louis cried out, into Harry’s mouth, as Harry pulled the cheeks apart, his fingertips insistent at the seam, the pressure against Louis’ asshole hinting at what was to come._

_“Off, off,” Louis said, swatting at Harry’s arms. He needed them to be naked, and he needed it_ now.

_Their limbs tangled and flailed as they shimmied out of their pants, ungraceful, but laughing with it, giddy and stupid and so goddamn in love._

_Once naked, skin sought skin, fingers sought nipples and ribs and the soft trail of hair leading down to a flushed cock, lips sought each other. They rocked together, Harry’s thigh slipping in between Louis’ legs, grounding him, teasing him, offering him an anchor as the waves of pleasure rolled through his body._

_“Let me, let me…” Harry nudged Louis until he was on his back, surrounded by the warm cocoon of Harry’s bed. Louis turned his face, buried his nose in Harry’s pillow, inhaled the scent of him as Harry trailed his lips down Louis’ neck, dragged his teeth along Louis’ collarbones, kitten-licked at lust-pebbled nipples, toying with one as he sucked the other into his mouth._

_Louis arched into the sensation, and Harry soothed one hand down Louis’ side, pulling back a little to blow on the slick bud he’d just released. Crying out, Louis reached blindly for Harry’s shoulders, something to hold onto._

_“Look at you,” Harry whispered, his lips resting above Louis’ thundering heart. “I would paint you, all blues and greens, and gold too. Gold. Because you’re golden.”_

_It was the kind of sappy, romantic declaration Harry made often and without fanfare, and this time Louis decided to believe him. He thought maybe in the silver light of the moon, in their home--their_ home-- _panting, flushed pink with lust, legs spread for Harry to fit himself between, cock aching, belly trembling with each shaky breath, maybe, maybe he could believe Harry. Maybe here, here he was as gorgeous as Harry promised._

_Harry certainly was. Beautiful. He held himself over Louis, the muscles in his arms defined and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. His curls were half-wet, plastered to his temples, half-dry and fluffy, and Louis couldn’t resist burying his fingers in the thickness, tangling into the strands. His eyes were dark, but Louis could still make out the beloved green, the flecks of hazel, surrounded by long dark lashes that made him pretty instead of just cute._

_Time stretched like taffy as Louis dragged Harry in for another kiss, the passing seconds irrelevant  and unmarked. Their passion turned lazy for a moment, their tongues sliding against each other, Louis’ legs wrapping around Harry’s waist so their cocks were trapped against their stomachs, achingly hard._

_Breaking the kiss, Harry pulled back, pressed a quick peck to Louis’ closed mouth, and then slid completely down Louis’ body to settle in between his legs. He buried his face in the crease of Louis’ groin, nosing at the thick thatch of hair, his hands pressing into Louis’ thighs, spreading him so that he was even more exposed, more open, more vulnerable._

_Harry maneuvered Louis so that one knee was held against the mattress, while the other bent up, his foot pressing into the comforter. Then Harry settled, inhaled, just as he did when they cuddled together, before sucking one of Louis’ balls into his mouth. He teased, explored,_ worshipped, _until the pleasure-pain ache in Louis’ pelvis became nearly unbearable._

_“For fuck’s sake,” Louis cried, shattering the mood but unable to keep it in. Harry giggled, actually giggled, before relenting. He pushed up a bit to get a better angle, and then without a moment’s hesitation, sunk down, swallowing Louis in one smooth motion. Louis’ cock bumped against the back of Harry’s--hot, wet, slick, perfect--mouth just as Harry’s thumb pressed against Louis’ perineum, rubbing gentle circles as he swallowed deeply._

_It took everything in Louis not to thrust. Harry’s head bobbed along the length of him, pulling off only to lick at the sensitive underside of Louis’ cock before taking him down again. Warmth coiled in his groin, his thighs, his balls--his muscles trembling, his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t realized were falling. “Harry.”_

_“Okay, sweetheart,” Harry said, kissing the base of Louis’ cock._

_Then he reached for the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. Before Louis could beg, Harry was back, taking Louis deep again, all the way down, swallowing so that the delicate tissue in his throat rippled and constricted around Louis’ cock. At the same time Harry slipped a finger into Louis’ ass._

_Louis’ brain short-circuited, whiting out as his hips tried to chase both feelings, stuttering as the waves of his orgasm broke over him._

_“Gorgeous, golden.” Harry kissed Louis’ shivering thighs, his wet and softening cock._

_Whimpering, confused, and orgasm-stupid, Louis tried to ask the question that sat on his tongue but that he couldn’t quite get to form into words._

_“I just wanted to take the edge off,” Harry said. With that implicit promise, Louis relaxed into the hazy bliss, his body sinking into the warm mattress, the smell of Harry._

_He didn’t know how long it took for Harry to open him up. He was being careful and slow, probably because it was Louis’ first time, but also because he was Harry._

_Louis’ cock was getting interested again just as Harry withdrew his lube-slick fingers._

_“I want to see you face, but on you stomach…” Harry said, delicately. He was kneeling between Louis’ legs, which were spread wide so that his cock and balls were on display. He relished the feeling, though, nothing in him telling him to cover up. There was no part of himself that he didn’t trust completely to Harry._

_“Might be easier,” Louis finished for him, just a step behind. Harry nodded, caressing Louis’ hip, this thumb smoothing small circles into the jut of bone. “K.”_

_He rolled over, and Harry helped him shove a pillow under him, the fabric nearly too gentle against his cock._

_Harry draped himself along Louis’ back, one hand pulling at his ass cheeks, Harry’s mouth hot and wet and open against the back of Louis’ neck._

_“I love you,” Harry said, guiding the head of his cock until it nestled right up against Louis’ hole._

_It was so fucking cliche and so fucking perfect, Louis couldn’t do anything beyond bite the pillow to stop a sob. Somehow Harry got it anyway, kissing along the knobs of Louis’ spine, and finally, finally, pushing into him. It was slow and smooth and careful, but Harry didn’t stop until his hips were flush up against Louis’ ass, his cock buried in Louis’ heat._

_The burning stretch Louis had known was going to come, came. It wasn’t pleasant, but Louis breathed through it, until it faded. Once it did, he reached blindly for Harry’s hand. Their fingers tangled together, their hands coming to rest above Louis’ head, Harry’s hard, lean body covering Louis’._

_Louis’ cock throbbed, back in the game and Louis squeezed Harry’s hand to give him the go ahead._

_Harry’s exhale was ragged as he began to rock their bodies together, the slide of his cock sure but somehow reverent. Whispered words spilled out between them, words of praise, of love, of worship. “So perfect, so pretty, so good for me.”_

_“Love you.” it was slurred and lust-drunk, but that didn’t make it any less meaningful._

_Their bodies were sweat-damp, flushed, and the bed creaked with each thrust, and Louis’ cock dragged against the pillow beneath his hips, slow and agonizing. And everything, everything was beautiful._

_Harry tumbled over the edge first, his rhythm picking up until it was lost to frantic little movements. He grinded against Louis ass as if all he wanted was to get closer, as close as possible, and then he stilled completely._

_He landed heavy against Louis’ back, mouthing at the juncture of shoulder and neck, murmuring nonsense compliments that Louis devoured._

_It only took a few moments for him to realize that Louis was all but humping against the pillow._

_“Sorry, baby, here.” He rolled Louis over, made a little whimpering sound at the sight of Louis’ wet, red cock, and then swallowed him down once more. He shoved three fingers in Louis’ ass, crooking them just right to find the spot that sent gentle waves of pleasure through Louis’ pelvis. It didn’t take long before he was coming down Harry’s throat, his whole body sucked dry._

_“Love you,” Louis said again, his last coherent thought before he gave in to the post-orgasm crash and drifted off to sleep. Some distant part of his brain noted that Harry didn’t say it back._

_When Louis woke in the morning, Harry was gone._

***

 

They paired off at the ambush site, going off to hiding spots with their assigned buddies. Louis ended up with Harry, because of course he ended up with Harry.

It was the hour before dawn, that time when people told secrets and the sky went pink at the edges, and they were squatted down in the middle of huge ass holly bush waiting for an evil half-goat, half-man Bad Santa. And Louis just really wanted to be making his Sweet Potato Surprise for Steve’s Christmas dinner, far, far away from Harry. Who smelled of coconut and the earth after it rained.

That scent had stayed with Louis long after Harry had left town.

“So, how’s LA?” Louis asked when the silence became more painful than small talk would be. It hurt, to do this fake BS with Harry, Harry of all people. But the only way forward now was this.

Harry flinched at the question, an unidentifiable emotion flickering across his expressive features before he shut it all down. “Crowded.”

Louis huffed a breath at the unexpected answer. “With demons?”

“Keeps me in business.” And Louis shouldn’t know that Harry was running a demon-hunting detective agency with his own ragtag team of misfits, but Louis knew anyway.

“That’s a sad thought.”

Shrugging, Harry looked away. “Aren’t they all?”

There went that goddamn vagus nerve. Louis rubbed the heel of his hand against his sternum. “They don’t have to be.”

“Lou….”

Louis held up a hand before Harry could launch into all the reasons they couldn’t possibly be together. “I’m not banging my head against that particular wall, believe me, I learned my lesson.”

Harry’s face crumbled, his fingers reaching for Louis before he evidently thought better of it. His hand stopped mid-air, then fell back to his side. There was nothing more to say. Louis had long ago come to grips with that.

“What I’m saying,” Louis said, keeping his voice painstakingly even, “is that you can find something.” He paused, dragged in much needed air. “Some _one_ who makes you happy. You’re allowed to be happy, you know.”

The concept didn’t seem novel, but Harry had never quite been able to grasp it. Even now he shook his head. “I don’t deserve to be.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit, I can’t even look at you right now,” Louis said, though he kept his voice low. They were on an ambush, and he was the slayer not a fucking amateur. Still. “You do this all the time. What a martyr, you poor, cursed vampire. You’re allowed to be fucking happy.”

“No. I’m not.” Harry’s fingers curled into fists, his nostrils flaring with restrained anger. It was so much more beautiful than the shy, hesitant, self-effacing Harry that he’d been on the visit so far. “Remember what happened the last time I was happy?”

People died. Louis almost had. Louis had had to kill Harry. “There’s got to be a way around the curse. Niall was able to restore your soul, which means it’s possible. But you haven’t even tried looking have you? In hundreds of years, you haven’t even once tried to break the curse.”

The fight went out of Harry, his shoulders rounding in, protecting his once-vulnerable organs even though he no longer needed to. “I deserve the curse.”

Louis jabbed an angry finger into Harry’s bicep. “Fucking martyr. I bet if you put one ounce of the energy you use to mope over yourself into figuring out a way to permanently hold onto your soul, it would have been done decades ago.”

“It’s not just... “ Harry started.

Again, Louis stopped him. Knowing what he was going to say. It wasn’t just the soul thing that was keeping them apart. Harry didn’t want Louis to have to live in the darkness. Louis deserved the light, Harry said.

_Where will we live?_

“Brick wall, Harry,” Louis said, swallowing hard. “With the bruises to prove it. I’m not saying it should be me. I just…”

He paused, weighed how pathetic what he was thinking made him sound, decided to say it anyways. Because this was Harry. “I want you to be happy.”

Harry’s lip trembled, just one quiver before he sucked it between teeth, ducking his head to hide any feelings.

They sat like that in silence long enough for the pink to go gold with the rising sun. Harry would have to take shelter soon.

Just when Louis thought that would be the very last thing they ever said to each other, Harry breathed out, looked up, met Louis’ eyes.

“It’s not like you fought for me, either.”

The earth dropped out beneath Louis, the world tipping for a moment before righting itself again. “What?”

It was all he was able to get out before Krampus materialized in the clearing and all Hell broke loose.

***

_Louis hated Sunnydale. Most of the people Louis had met so far were vapid airheads, bullies and-slash-or demons._

_But here lay the Hellmouth, so that’s where Louis would be._

_He’d tried, tonight, he really had. James Arthur had invited him to the “only hot club in town,” and being the only person who had talked to Louis so far beyond his Watcher, Louis was inclined to at least give it a go._

_So, he’d squeezed into his lucky jeans and threw on a so-soft-it-was-nearly-translucent black tee, and smudged some eyeliner on in a subtle, tasteful way. But once he’d realized he was there as an audition to become the latest yes-man in James’ sycophant-laden posse, he’d bounced._

_Not worth it._

_He rubbed his thumb against the wood of the stake he wore strapped into a holster against his rib cage, and wondered if he should go looking for trouble. A restless energy flared beneath his skin, and slaying a few vamps might actually take the edge off._

_Just as he had the thought, a particular dark alley came up on his left, shrouded in fog, narrow and littered with dark objects that could easily hide some big bads looking for an easy treat._

_Might as well wander down, just to see._

_It didn’t take long. Once he hit the wall where the alley dead-ended, he heard it. A slight rustle, the scuff of boot on pavement. He had to assume he was meant to hear the warning, as vampires could move fast and without making a sound. What that meant, he didn’t know._

_He spun, keeping his posture relaxed, but stepping a bit so that his feet were braced for a fight._

_“Whoa, whoa,” the man said, emerging from the fog. “I don’t bite.” He paused, then grinned, a wicked, sinful thing. “Not hard, anyway.”_

_If this was a vamp, he was the most beautiful one Louis had ever seen. There was a roundness to his face that should have made him seem baby soft. But the sharp angle of his jaw, the wide-set green eyes, the cheekbones, all presented a counterpoint that couldn’t be ignored._

_His hair was pulled back into a bun, but a few dark brown curls had slipped loose. Louis’ fingers itched to tuck those strands behind the man’s ears. He shook off the thought as quickly as it had come._

_“Please, please don’t bite little-ole-me, mister,” Louis went wide-eyed, turning the earnestness up to eleven._

_The vamp blinked at him, tilted his head. “You know I thought you’d be bigger. Bulkier, maybe?”_

_Oh, fuck this guy. No matter how pretty he was. “I’m 5’9, asshole.”_

_The man waved it off. “Look, I just wanted to warn you.”_

_“Let me guess, some big bad is coming. Blah blah, Hellmouth, blah. Yeah, I’ve got it covered thanks.”_

_“You may think you do,” the guy said. “But you have no idea.”_

_“Oh, yeah, then inform me,” Louis said, crossing his arms over his chest, officially over this. If the vamp wasn’t going to take the bait, Louis was going to go home, change into his softest pair of sweatpants and forget this night had ever happened._

_The vamp stalked closer, but still hadn’t pulled out his growl-y face, so Louis stayed relaxed until he crowded into Louis’ personal space. “The harvest. You need to be prepared for it.”_

_“The harvest?”_

_“See?” There was smugness in the tilt of the man’s lips. “You have no idea.”_

_Louis wasn’t interested in playing his game, so he just flicked his brows in a universal_ is that all you’ve got _gesture._

_Up close, Louis could see the years in the man’s eyes, the depth of an old soul residing behind them, and he fought hard against the way they pulled him in already._

_He needn’t have worried, though. With one more dismissive once-over, the main turned back toward the entrance of the alleyway._

_“Wait.” The command slipped unbidden from his lips._

_The man stopped, but didn’t turn._

_“Who are you?” It felt like a weakness, the question. But Louis couldn’t not ask it._

_There was a moment of silence and then the man glanced back, turning his head just enough so that Louis could make out that strong jaw, the slope of his forehead, silhouetted by the street lamp._

_“Let’s just say… I’m a friend.”_

_***_

Louis eyed the nearly empty casserole dish with a pure kind of happiness he almost didn’t recognize. There were few things in life these days as simple and easy as the satisfaction of successfully providing the Sweet Potato Surprise for his Watcher’s Christmas party.

A low whistle broke through the chatter that filled the apartment. “Lou-eh.” It was Zayn, still tied to the chair, a bright red santa hat forced onto his head. “Get me a piece of that will you?”

Rolling his eyes, Louis scooped half of the last bit onto a plate and meandered over. It was up for debate whether he’d actually give it over to Zayn, but a small part of him felt guilty over leaving the vamp tied to a chair for going on 24 hours now. Not that guilty considering what a pain in the ass he was. Well that and how many people he’d killed plus how many times he’d threatened to kill Louis over the years.

“Bless you,” Zayn sighed, seeming to believe Louis would rise above pettiness despite having known him for all this time.

“Hmm,” Louis hummed, faking distraction. The apartment was filled with people, friends, strangers, Steve’s colleagues. Niall and Shawn had cozied up in a corner beneath some mistletoe that look suspiciously haphazard. If Louis had to venture a guess, he’d say Niall had taped it up there not long ago before suggesting they seclude themselves in that very spot.

Liam and Roman had disappeared a while ago into Steve’s bedroom even though it had been technically locked. And Steve was chatting with Bebe, his glass of wine sloshing precariously as he gestured with his hands. No doubt describing the fight against Krampus, which had been touch-and-go for a minute, but only a minute.

Then there was Harry. He’d sulked off to the patio a while ago and Louis was just waiting for him to disappear without a goodbye.

Zayn noticed where Louis’ attention had drifted. “Oh, ho. Are you still playing the star-crossed Juliet to his lovelorn Romeo, then? Didn’t that song get old a few years back?”

“You really want to piss me off right now?” Louis asked. Then, because Zayn was Zayn and had zero expectations and zero emotional stake in this particular game, Louis found himself talking before he really thought it through. “It’s not like that. It’s… we’re friends.”

“That’s horsesshit.” Zayn shook his head. “You’re not friends. You’ll never be friends. You’ll be in love till it kills you both. You’ll fight, and you’ll shag, and you’ll hate each other till it makes you quiver. But you’ll never be friends.”

The words wrapped around Louis’ chest, tightened until there was no air left. _You’re not friends._

It took longer than it should have for Louis to drag in a breath. When he did, he turned to Zayn, who was watching him carefully, the cocky tilt of his head obnoxious but not unexpected. “I’m just gonna put this right here.”

He placed the Sweet Potato Surprise _just_ out of reach of Zayn’s flailing hands and then turned toward the patio.

“Meannnn,” Zayn called after him, and Louis flicked him off without looking back.

Louis managed to slip outside without being stopped by anyone else. When he did, Harry looked over from where he was leaning against the wall, his eyes wide, his lips parted.

_It’s not like you fought for me either._

_You’ll never be friends._

_Where will we live?_

Louis settled in next to Harry so that their shoulders brushed, so that his knuckles nudged against Harry’s. When Harry didn’t move away, Louis hooked his finger around one of Harry’s, a tenuous connection at best, but one that he knew they were both completely focused on.

One inhale, one exhale. Breathing each other in, as always.

“I hear Aruba’s nice this time of year,” Louis said. Hoping Harry would get that this was more than just the old game they played. That this was Louis fighting for him.

From the corner of Louis’ eye, he could see Harry duck his face a bit as the slow smile spread.

“I think I prefer Jamaica.”


End file.
